


Dirty Numb Angel Boy

by Rhys (rhyssj)



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Alcohol, Depression, Drug Addiction, Gay Bashing, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Memory Loss, Religion, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-06-03
Updated: 2001-06-03
Packaged: 2019-04-19 18:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14243448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhyssj/pseuds/Rhys
Summary: Justin falls from grace.





	1. my tin horn boy and get wet like an angel derail.

**Author's Note:**

> For Wax. This is the butchered birthday fic.
> 
> All section titles are from Underworld's "Born Slippy." A fine song, that.

Justin's been a man for as long as he can remember, went straight from child to adult without anything in between. It isn't so bad, he thinks in the quiet moments, but it means he's also missing those vital experiences of being an awkward, questioning teen. There are things he thinks and things he's learned that he cannot reconcile. 

For most of his life, girls have been screaming his name. At twelve, it was embarrassing, but at nineteen, it's what he expects. If they don't scream then he's worried, but they always seem to shout the loudest for him, and it makes everything all right. 

But Justin struggles with things those girls cannot understand, dark feeling that live in his head and make him feel Bad Things. Lustful things, about people Justin shouldn't be thinking about, especially not when it's all he can think about sometimes. The guy who should be able to help him is the guy Justin hates the most, the guy Justin blames for everything. 

Justin cannot reconcile being in love with JC. 

In Justin's head, this love he feels is an Evil Thing.


	2. drive boy dog boy dirty numb angel boy.

Justin's lean and tall, and he's muscular, too. His stomach ripples when he breathes, and he has honest-to-god pecs that bulge when he flexes and make him look fierce. Hours he spends in front of the mirror, studying his body, the twist of muscles, the bend of his limbs. He is a man, the mirror tells him, but he finds himself ugly because of it. 

When he watches JC move, that's when he feels the most hate. No man should look like that, should move like liquid with long, elegant limbs and a bright, smiling face. JC's in complete control of his body, and he flaunts it, wears tight clothes and sleeveless shirts. JC breeds temptation, and Justin's fallen under his spell. 

During public appearances, in that thirty second gap between car and door, there's always someone there, crying " _fag_!" JC and Lance always laugh about it afterwards, and Chris always kisses Joey and professes his love before doing the same to JC and Lance. In the past, Justin laughed with them, but one random day, after an appearance on Rosie, Chris tries to do it to Justin, and Justin punches him hard. 

Chris hasn't tried since. Sometimes, Justin misses it. 

~~~ 

"You're an asshole, Timberlake," JC says calmly in the recording studio. Justin's angry because JC looks great today, all smiling and happy, and that isn't fair to Justin, who wants JC to suffer like he does. Justin's been ragging on him for six hours. "A selfish, ignorant little brat." 

"And you're a faggot. So what?" Justin snaps back and backhands JC in the mouth, but it's Chris who punches Justin back, clean and quick. Justin hits the ground hard, and he lies there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, until Joey pulls Chris out of the booth. JC and Lance are already gone. 

When Justin's alone, he curls his legs to his chest, lying on his side, but he doesn't cry. He just remembers what it means to hate, and it feels all right that his belly is twisted, and his throat is swollen without unspoken words. It hurts, and that's what Justin needs. 

Pain, Justin knows, can kill even the sweetest things. 

~~~ 

"You and I," Chris says later, calmer now and no longer looking like he wants to tear Justin's head off, "are going to have a little chat about safe working environments and a couple important things called harassment and homophobia." 

Justin doesn't move from his place on the floor, so Chris crouches down and looks menacing. He yanks Justin up so they're sitting face to face. He's mad, Justin notices idly, and Chris is never mad, but Justin figures he deserves it. JC needs his mouth to sing, and Justin fucked it up. 

"Okay, you little shit, this is how this works. If you can't handle it, and if you keep up this shit, I'm going to stay after you until you fucking get it through your narrow-minded little skull. Okay?" Chris asks, and Justin nods, staring at the ground. The carpet is a shade of dark grey, and Justin remembers his house in Tennessee has the same kind. 

"Good. First off, you fucking call JC a name like that again, I'll break both your legs. You want to know why? I'll tell you. It took a lot of guts for him to come out to us, especially when his own fucking mother disowned him, and me and the other guys support him, always have, always will. You are going to be fine with it because I say you're going to be fine with it. If you do have as big a problem as you seem to, you and I are going to come to some sort of agreement which probably won't be very pleasant for you." 

Justin nods and bites his lip; the ground looks fuzzy and wet. 

"Secondly, I want to know what the fuck your problem is. You're a fuck of a lot smarter than this, Justin, and you aren't the type to hate blindly, not one of your best friends, never one of us. So I think something's really bugging you, it's been eating away at you for weeks, and I want you to tell me what that is." 

Justin shakes his head and sniffs, rubbing at his nose. "Nothing." 

"Bullshit, Curly," Chris says and grabs Justin's face, fingers digging into Justin's chin so tightly it hurts. Justin's crying, can't stop it, and he wants to turn away because men don't cry, and he doesn't want Chris to see him break. "Jesus, kid. Tell me what the fuck is wrong." 

"No," Justin whispers and hits Chris's hand away. Justin's palm catches on one of Chris's rings, and the skin starts bleeding, a dark trickle that spirals down Justin's wrist and onto the dark carpet. Justin touches his fingers to the wound, but Chris pulls them away. 

"Tell. Me," Chris says again and squeezes Justin's face between his fingers, but still, Justin shakes his head and won't say a word. "Then fine, we're staying in here until you tell me what's up. Start counting, Justin, because I have all fucking day." 

Justin pulls away and curls into the corner. 

~~~ 

At sixteen hours, Chris still isn't near giving up, and Justin's hungry and thirsty and sad. For the first thirteen hours, he's mad and shaking and full of hate and spite and other angry things, but now, three hours later, he's quiet and miserable and guilty. 

Justin's hand is stinging, and the blood has dried, all crusty and ugly, so he picks at it until it starts bleeding again. Chris looks up and frowns, and Justin stares at him, wanting to apologise but not wanting to admit why he's sorry. If Justin would, this would all be over. 

"Are you still mad?" Justin asks, pressing his injured hand to his pants, hoping to stop the flow of warm, dark blood. 

"No," Chris says, and his voice is low, "right now, I'm pitying you." 

Justin's belly clenches, but he needs to know. "Why?" 

Chris stands up and opens the door, sighing deeply, and Justin stands up, strangely happy inside suddenly because this is Chris admitting defeat, and it means Justin's stronger than him. It means Justin has hopes of overcoming this, of cutting off temptation and going back to how things used to be, before he was corrupted by lust. 

"Just go, Justin. I. don't want to look at you right now. Just. go." 

And the way Chris says it makes Justin cringe, but Justin walks past him, straight by Joey and Lance and a sleeping JC, and he doesn't even stop. Just keeps on walking, ready to find himself. Justin knows he can because his fans want him, and he wants them. 

Justin will force himself to feel lust for girls.


	3. you are my drug boy you're real boy speak to me.

When they're all in LA, doing an awards show, Justin puts his plan into action. The trick is finding the girls over eighteen, but they're not that rare, and pretty soon he's fucking one up against the wall outside a club in an alley. It's dark, and it's raining, and he's barely even feeling it, but it feels good to be inside her, swallowed by heat. Justin thinks JC must be burning inside, and when he thinks that, he pushes the girl away. 

The problem is, JC's inside Justin's skin, and he won't get out, so Justin's going to fuck him out by hiding his dick in as many girls as possible, but with the girl staring at him like he's some sort of monster, realising she's just been used, he doesn't know if he can handle it. It seems cruel to him, but loving JC is even crueler, so Justin's willing to give it a try. 

When the girl leaves, he finds another, and she's brunette and slender, just like JC, but Justin fucks her anyway, tearing the condom open with his teeth and grunting harsh breathes into her ears. She sounds like music, light and lyrical, and Justin comes quickly, stepping back as she arranges her dress and smiles. 

When Justin stumbles back to the hotel, JC is standing in the hallway, and Justin glares at him, hates him and thinks about fucking him, just a flash of it. His mind is dirty, Justin knows, lewd and drunk and wanton, and it's all JC's fault. 

"Where have you been all night?" JC asks. "I was worried." 

"Fucking," Justin replies, "fucking _girls_." 

JC sighs and looks away. "Fine, Justin." 

And Justin slams his door and locks it, pressing his forehead against the cool surface of the door, and he feels like crying, really does this time, because he's drunk and miserable and a little bit high. JC always looks so wounded when he's hurt, and Justin still isn't impervious to the pure blue gaze. 

With enough drugs, Justin thinks he might be. 

~~~ 

Between the binge-fucking and the drugs, Justin loses five days from his life. He finally comes home early one fine Orlando morning, his head thumping angry tribal rhythms in his ears while his feet feel like dancing and do as they please, bringing him back, and Justin's still saturated with alcohol and heroin when he manages to unlock the front door. 

Justin goes into his house and just wants to go to bed, but Chris is sitting there, in his living room, and he's angry. Justin steps back, getting ready to run, but Chris is small and quick, a wily little bastard, and he wretches Justin by the shoulders, knocks him off his feet and onto the carpet, where he slides and is burned. 

"You fucking little cunt," Chris says, grabbing Justin by the shirt collar and dragging him upstairs, "you fucking self-centred motherfucking little brat! Five days, you little shit, five goddamn fucking days! And you come home, high as a kite and piss drunk? You're a fucking superstar, Justin, you can't just disappear!" 

Chris heaves Justin into the bathtub and turns the water on icy cold. Justin shrieks, but Chris is in there with him, holding him down, and Justin's screaming at him, calling him fat and old and pathetic. Chris simply presses his forearm over Justin's chest to stop the writhing, pins him with his hips. 

"How long are you going to keep this up, Justin? How long do you think you can keep going until it kills you? Huh?" Chris pressed down on Justin's ribs, and Justin gasps a painful breath, hating Chris and clawing at his arms, drawing slivers of dark blood. "You think whatever it is you're suffering with is worth this? You think you know what pain is? You have no fucking clue, Justin, so get the fuck off your high horse and join the rest of us here in your goddamn life." 

Justin spits at Chris, gets him in mouth with a blob of gooey saliva, and Chris slaps him so hard Justin feels it through the drugs and alcohol, feels the tears spring to his eyes. Justin can't breathe, not with Chris bearing down, and he's panicking, flailing about in icy cold water. 

This is what it feels like to be helpless. 

~~~ 

Sobriety doesn't suit Justin. It's cold, and it's numb, and he hates it, but Justin has drugs hidden all throughout his house, and he does just a little bit, just enough to keep him sane and normal. Chris makes him eat, and he does, if only because his stomach is clenched in knots, and he feel empty inside. Chris walks around without speaking, and Justin finds himself looking at old pictures in which JC is smiling and happy and likes being around Justin. 

For the first time in a long time, Justin actually misses JC's smile, misses _JC_. Tentatively, he touches his fingers to the glass then wraps himself in his arms, standing there and staring at it, and in that moment, he doesn't understand his hate and somehow that's even more terrifying. Justin needs more heroin. He needs Chris to go home. 

"You can tell me anything," Chris says. He looks concerned. 

Justin closes his eyes, and Chris fades away. 

~~~ 

Justin's goes back into the studio to record his parts, but he can't look at JC, and JC doesn't even try to talk to Justin. It's not tense so much as it is defeated, and no one understands the war being fought, doesn't understand why Justin's facing the barrel of a gun. 

In the bathroom, he snorts a line of heroin and feels all right. 

Joey is the first to start talking to Justin after Chris, and Justin sits patiently while Joey speaks, nodding at proper intervals and lulled by the repetition of Joey's voice, the same words used in succession. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches JC talk to Lance, how JC smiles with him like he used to smile with Justin. 

Justin stands up, and Joey trails off, but Justin barely notices. Chris looks up from his stool at the mike, papers in his hand, and Justin knows Chris understands what Justin's about to do because Chris is already up, his dark eyes furious. Justin laughs. 

Justin takes flight and sails out the door, and his sneakers squeak on the floor, speaking his language. Chris is screaming behind him, and Justin's smiling because this bird has wings, and he's going back to where it's full and alive and destructive, where he can suffer for his sins and drive the evil out of his skin. 

Justin is going to fly far away. 

~~~ 

Justin doesn't run far, just up to roof of the thirty storey building, all flights up the stairs, and when he gets to the top of the world, he's panting hard and high out of his mind, but he can still feel and think, and that just doesn't do at all. Leaning against the closed, metal door, he takes another hit and laughs out loud. 

When Justin was a child, he hated heights, but he's not afraid anymore, just walks to the brink of the building and lets his toes hang over the edge. A fall from this height would shatter his bones, kill him immediately, but Justin doesn't worry. He's not afraid of dying. 

The wind is cold and fierce, and Justin teeters unsteadily, his arms perpendicular to his body while they keep his balance, protect him from harm. He inhales a deep breath and almost feels clean, and it washes out his mind for a moment, past the drugs and no sleep. In that second, Justin thinks clearly and remembers his fear. Justin is afraid and realises he cannot reconcile his love for JC, so maybe it would be best just to jump. 

Justin could have any girl in the world he wants, and there are plenty of ones who want him back, girls like Britney who always says to call her and he never does. He knows he should, that it's what he has to do, but he never does, not once has he picked up that phone. 

Justin curls into a crouch, perched on the edge and looking down, and he feels unsteady, off, with the drugs in his blood and making things this terrible balance of calm-dangerous, too tempting to just jump and see if he really can fly. 

Justin unfurls, a perfect body of long and strong limbs, and he lifts his head to the sun, breathing in the light and the cold, his ear tuned to the wind, and it sounds sad as it howls through the streets, like it's screaming. Inside, Justin's screaming, too. 

Justin's head whispers. _go_. 

The first step isn't as hard to take as he thinks it should be, and when he feels nothing beneath his feet, he's not afraid anymore. This is freedom, absolution from life and his unforgivable sins, and it'll take him to hell, too, but at least he won't go there as a faggot. 

"Justin, _no_." 

And just as he's falling, there's an arm around his waist, and it's lifting him off the edge, off the ground, dragging him back from the precipice. Justin opens his eyes just as his body slams full-force into the door, and the wind's still screaming in his ears, though it's quieter now, like the moment has passed and this is what Justin's stuck with. nothing. 

"You were going to jump," JC says, incredulous. 

Justin can't look at him, not when he's so close that Justin can feel the warm breath paint over his skin and remind him of the reasons why Justin needs to fade away. It feels so good, so hot and human, and Justin's breathing hard, fighting tears and desire in this unending battle. He knows he's already lost. 

"I need to go," Justin whispers and tries to push free, but JC's too strong. 

JC frowns and touches his hand to Justin's forehead, palming soft across it as he leans his body against Justin, holding him against the door like he thinks Justin's going to escape. Justin thinks he probably would try. "I sometimes forget. that you're suffering with things I don't understand. don't know." 

"I don't," Justin says, staring at the sky. The blue reminds him of JC's eyes, which are focussed on his face and not straying. Justin wants JC to look away, admit defeat, but he knows JC won't. JC is the type to never give up. "I want to go." 

"I won't let you," JC whispers. "Just tell me what's wrong." 

Justin shakes his head, swallows loud and breathes harder, his legs braced against the ground, straight and strong, and JC's between them, his elbow dug into Justin's belly. It's almost painful, if it wasn't so pleasant instead, horribly peaceful in the way they breathe in unison. 

"Look at me," JC says, and Justin does. Their eyes meet and lock. "I want you to live, Justin. I _need_ you to be alive. This shit you're doing, me and Chris, we know, okay? We understand why you're doing it, but you have to _stop_." 

"I _can't._ " 

JC moves suddenly, slams Justin against the door again, and it hurts like a motherfucker because JC is boney and way too strong. Justin stamps his foot against the concrete, bangs his head against the door, and JC is closer than ever, whispering, "Bullshit, Justin. You're stronger than this." 

"If I was strong," Justin snaps, "this never would have happened. You made me feel. Bad Things." 

JC's face remains angry, holding Justin against his will. "I won't let you blame me because you're afraid, Justin. If you want me, then want me, but don't you dare try to blame me because you can't handle the fear. You're trying to put fault where it doesn't belong. You're just like my mother, Justin, ignorant and afraid." 

Justin opens his mouth to speak then snaps it shut, nodding, and perhaps, he thinks, that's the first step forward in this whole thing, some positive action that makes more sense to JC than it does to Justin because JC relaxes his iron-grip. Justin looks at him, and JC stares back. 

It's still windy and cold up here, but Justin's feeling warm now. JC's eyes are intense and electric, soulful in the way they see into things, and Justin is staring at them. Justin's still high, he can feel it simmering everywhere inside him, but his eyes are clear, if only for the Moment. For a second, Justin thinks about kissing JC and leans in to do it, closes his eyes and waits. There's a painful space of nothing. 

When Justin opens his eyes, Chris is there, standing off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest, and JC's gone, though Justin's sure he must still be on the roof somewhere, but he's hiding. Chris doesn't look happy, and Justin waits to be hit again, knowing he deserves it. 

But Chris just says, "come on, Jup. We're going to help you fix this," and puts his hand on Justin's shoulder, pulling him away from the door. Justin goes willingly because something's changed, and though he's no less afraid, he remembers the heat of JC's body. 

It's still all over Justin's skin.


	4. let your feeling slip boy but never your mask.

When Chris asks how long Justin's been doing the drugs, Justin shrugs and says, "I don't know. A couple weeks, maybe a month, not that long," and Chris frowns, scratching a hand through his hair. Justin is already jittery, and he's barely keeping control. "Is it going to hurt?" 

"Kid," Chris says, "it's gonna hurt like hell." 

~~~ 

Justin begins to breathe pain. It's not so bad at first, not at the very beginning, but the prologue's always like that, innocuous and innocent and dressed in pretty, pretty clothes, but it's the middle, not the end, that hurts the most. 

A couple days, a few lost hours, Justin isn't sure how long it's gonna take to get the poison out of his skin, to sweat, shit, piss it out, and the beginning just makes it worse, gives him hope, only for the middle to strip it away, cold and fast, in a whirl of white bright pain. 

In the beginning, Justin's just shaky, his legs like jello and unable to make him move, to help him stay standing up right and like a man. Instead, he folds to the ground, clings to the bed and wants the world to slow down, stop spinning, because it's making him sick. 

In the beginning, it isn't so bad at all. 

In the beginning, Justin remembers loving JC purely. 

Now, going into the middle, Justin can't remember why that changes. 

~~~ 

It starts to hurt around midnight, and it's pain in a pure and liquid form. Justin refuses to make a sound and swallows everything that touches his throat, stopping it before it goes any further. Justin regrets mixing the heroin with other drugs, drugs he can't remember. It's making it all that much worse. 

Chris is holding Justin's head in his lap, stroking a hand through Justin's hair, and he promises Justin that he's not going to be alone tonight. Justin isn't tired at all, and Chris says that a sign of withdrawal. Justin nods numbly. Sleeping would make this better. 

When JC comes in, Justin almost doesn't want him there, but Chris looks tired, and Justin doesn't fit it. Part of Justin still wants to blame JC, though most of that's fading away, most of the hate is vanishing, but right now, it's strong and consuming. It's the pain, Justin thinks, clutching JC tightly and trying to be quiet, never-speaking. The pain is the eater of good thoughts, the purveyor of nightmares. The pain makes him hate again. 

Justin is stuck inside it. 

~~~ 

At some point, Justin is left alone, locked inside a dark room. JC tries to explain the reasons for it, but Justin is too furious to understand what he's saying. He is sick of the ache, and he needs a break, just a little one. Justin tearfully begs for heroin, just a bit, it's all he needs, just a bit, but Chris says no. Chris fights to get Justin uncurled from JC, who's frantic and afraid and crying, then shoves JC out the door and turns back to Justin. 

"You fucking asshole!" Justin screams like a hysterical girl, throwing himself at Chris, and Chris pushes Justin down to the bed, holding him flush against the mattress. "Chris, please, please," Justin moans, clawing at Chris's face, "I hate you, I hate you." 

But Chris stopped talking hours ago, and he doesn't say anything now as Justin writhes like the devil's in him, kicking out and grabbing for something solid. When Chris lets go, Justin sits up and starts running after him, but the door slams shut in his face, and Justin thrusts his body against it, wailing, "please, please! You fucking cunts! You fucking assholes!" 

When Justin wears himself out, he collapses on the floor and breathes. 

The pain is all around him; it has become a living thing. 

~~~ 

Justin asks himself why he's doing this, and the answer is JC. Justin asks himself why he got here in the first place, and the answer is the same. In Justin's head, that doesn't make sense, but in the settling calm, he understands it to be the truth. 

Hate and love, he comes to perceive, are entirely the same thing, and though it's a realisation that scares him, he accepts it as it is. The truth, he knows, is rarely as lovely as the lies, which sweet-talk in muted ears and paint pretty pictures on flawless white walls. 

In the quiet that follows the storm, Justin thinks about why he's here, and why there's a gnawing fear in the back of his head, breeding darkness. In the beginning, it's all pleasant and light. In the end, it's dull and dead. 

Justin remembers the day Chris stopped kissing him. 

Justin cannot remember the nights before. 

~~~ 

Justin thinks maybe days have passed by the time Chris and JC come back, and he looks at them calmly, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. Chris looks apologetic. JC looks worried. Justin looks dead. 

"Are you hungry?" JC asks quietly, his voice rough with concern, and Justin nods. "I'll make you something. A sandwich, with the crusts cut off and extra mayonnaise. Okay?" 

"Yeah," Justin says and unfolds wobbly legs, feeling so small in his huge, baggy sweatpants. His wifebeater is still damp with sweat, and Justin shivers, tucking his hands under his arms. "Is it over?" 

"If you can stay away from the drugs, yeah, you'll get better. It's not the end, but that was the worst of it, Justin. You just need to stop," Chris says, draping a housecoat over Justin's shoulder, and Justin nods, feeling a little bit warm. 

In his head, something's aching, and he doesn't know what it is.


	5. she was a beautiful boy and tears boy and all in your innerspace boy.

The thing with trying to remember is that it isn't an easy thing to do. Memory is a slippery something, especially when it's a Bad Thing, and Justin can't quite grasp it. He knows Chris probably doesn't know about it, not really, but he thinks JC might know something, can tell in the way JC's only been mad once when Justin's been acting like an asshole for months. 

In his clear head, Justin thinks this love for JC might not be a recent thing. He knows he's always liked JC as a close and best friend, but he thinks the change to desire might not have been as sudden as Justin remembers it being. Justin's never had a girlfriend, and he's never wanted one. In retrospect, that strikes him as odd. 

Justin's left wondering just why he's here, in JC's living room, eating his third sandwich in a row and unable to sleep. Chris is in the guest bedroom, down for the night, and JC's sitting quietly at the other end of the couch, nibbling on his fingernails while he watches infomercials. 

"When did you come out?" 

JC looks up. "December first. You were there." 

Justin frowns, "that was after we did Rosie, right?" 

JC doesn't answer for a long time, before he finally says, "yeah." 

Justin shivers and sinks deeper into the flannel housecoat, hugging himself. JC's still staring, and Justin wants to make JC wrap his arms around him, but he doesn't know how to suggest it, so he sits there and feels cold. "Did something happen to me?" 

JC doesn't even blink, like he's been expecting Justin to ask, and he whispers, "I don't know, Justin. You wouldn't tell me. But I think so." 

The strange thing is, Justin doesn't even remember JC asking. 

~~~ 

Justin hasn't slept in four days, and it's beginning to show. He looks awful and feels worse. Joey and Lance are over for dinner, but Justin is a million miles away, trying to remember whatever it is that doesn't want him to remember. 

"I'm sorry," Justin says in the middle of the meal, poking at his spaghetti. He isn't really hungry. "I'm sorry for everything, guys. I'm just," Justin bows his head, swallows loudly and think he's going to cry, "I'm so sorry." 

"It's all right, J," Joey says, "it's okay." 

"You know we all love you, Justin. Nothing's going to ever change that," Lance adds, and Chris nods, his hand patting over Justin's back. Justin's sobbing now but trying to hide it, pressing his face into his hands. "Justin, you just lost your way. It happens." 

"And you're finding your way back," JC whispers in Justin's ear. "You're coming back." 

But Justin isn't sure he wants to. 

~~~ 

Justin falls asleep eventually and sleeps for eighteen hour straight, lying on the floor with his thumb in his mouth. When he wakes up, he's incredibly disoriented and fells like he's suffocating under the huge, wool blanket. JC's blanket, he knows, and it smells like him, like soap and skin and sunlight. It's as comforting as it is unsettling. 

Justin stumbles to his feet and checks the time, and it's not quite six o'clock. The sun will be up soon, and Justin decides he wants to see it. Walking into the kitchen, he pulls JC's calendar off the wall and tucks it under his arm. With bare feet, he walks outside onto the damp grass. JC's yard is protected by thick trees and wild brush. Justin feels safe. 

Sitting with his back against rough bark, Justin opens the calendar and begins to search for time. JC has the Rosie appearance written down with a smiley face next to it that has eyebrows lifted up in joy. JC's weird, but Justin doesn't mind so much right now. Justin counts back five days and comes to his mother's birthday -- Lynn! B-day! Memphis! -- which Justin remembers clearly. It's those five days, from Wednesday to Sunday, that he doesn't remember at all. 

JC's calendar is pretty full and detailed, but those five days are blank for him, too. No, Justin realises, rubbing his thumb over the smudges, they've simply been erased. JC writes everything in pencil, it's neater that way, and Justin can feel the indent of words where they once were. As far as he can tell, everything was rescheduled later on. 

Justin's too busy filling in blanks to notice the sun is already up. 

~~~ 

When JC wakes, Justin is sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over and rubbing his hands together. He looks back when JC stirs, looking down at the calendar he's spread out and knowing JC's following his gaze. JC frowns. 

"I'm missing five days," Justin says, matter-of-fact. 

JC gets up, and he's naked, all slim lines and long, gangly limbs, but Justin only notices in the back of his head, storing it away. He's beautiful, but Justin understands he's always known that, and that's a good step, a right step. Justin feels no hate when he sees it. 

"Come on," JC says, zipping his jeans then pulling on a thick sweater, and Justin follows quietly, outside to JC's car, getting in the passenger seat as JC starts the engine. Sliding on a pair of wraparound sunglasses, JC backs out of the driveway. 

Justin knows where they're going. It's a spot Justin and the guys go sometimes to sit under the trees and laugh and tighten their bond. Sometimes, when they fight, two or three or all five will travel here and work it out. It's only happened a few times in five years, and for that, Justin's grateful. 

He's never been here alone with JC before. 

~~~ 

JC, it turns out, has a story to tell, and Justin sits there, his arms wrapped around his legs and pulling them to his chest, his chin resting comfortably on the bony knobs of his knees. Tightly curled in a fortress of limbs, Justin feels protected. 

"I don't know much," JC says, "just the beginning and the end." 

Justin nods. "Okay." 

"I wanted you to remember on your own," JC says, "it seemed the right way." 

"I understand," Justin replies and peers at JC with curious eyes. 

"I'll tell you now, then, I guess," JC says, and there's a pause. 

It seems to stretch for eternity.


	6. blonde bio high density blonde rhythm boy.

Justin's drunk, very drunk, and strumming inside, singing this pounding, hard, fast song that beats against his brain and makes him want to scream. His pants are tight and flush against his legs, black leather, and his shirt is a shimmering grey, cut narrow, and when Justin lifts his arms, his stomach peeks out and begs to be touched. 

Justin expects female fingers to drag across the sliver of skin, but it's JC who does it, pulling his thumb over the soft-hard flesh then pressing his palm against Justin's belly. "Hey," he whispers in Justin's ear, and Justin smiles. "Every eye is on you, J." 

"Yeah?" Justin asks, and JC nods against his back. 

"Dance with me," JC mumbles like he has a thousand times before, but tonight it's different. Tonight, Justin can taste something electric in the air. It's been months, years, in the making, this moment. Justin can feel it all around him. 

"Promised Lance I would," Justin says, laughing. "But I'll ditch him, no prob." 

JC smiles. "Good." 

Justin feels amazingly alive. 

~~~ 

There's a method to it. JC orders shots and looks sober as to Raise No Questions, while Justin stays away, hovers in the background. When the bartender leaves, JC grabs the glasses between his fingers, he can hold eight, and dips into the shadows. Where no one can see, Justin shoots back his four and smiles, licks his lips. 

"Bad boy," Chris laughs and slaps Justin on the ass. "Jayce, you know you shouldn't." 

"I look after him," JC replies and runs a hand down Justin's back. Justin smiles. 

"I bet you do," Chris says and dances away, jumping on Joey's back and howling like a primitive beast. Somewhere close, Lance yells out and joins them, but Justin's happy where he is, drunk in the corner with JC, gentle fingers tracing the arc of his spine. 

The touch ignites something deep within Justin every time. 

~~~ 

JC's warm and boney against Justin's body, and his hips are slim, fitting into Justin's large hands as they grind, dance, in the half-dark, the music pulsing through their blood in time. JC's in red velvet pants and a netted black shirt, his hair in wild spikes everywhere. 

"You growing it out?" Justin asks, pulling at it while they entwine together. 

JC grins. "You think I should?" 

"Yeah," Justin says, "I think you should. Looks hot, you know?" 

JC's eyes are a dark, intense blue. "Does it?" 

Justin breathes in deep and runs his fingers through the fine hair, holds JC's head in his hands. He's taller than JC now, just barely, and he pulls JC's head forward, until their cheeks glide together so Justin can whisper, "yeah, Jayce, it does." 

JC pulls back, and this is it. 

This is the Moment. 

~~~ 

JC tugs Justin into an abandoned booth, far in the back where no prying eyes can see, for though it's dark, some eyes see clearly anyway and there's no need to be hurt for this. Justin's so drunk, and he knows that although he's thought about this for a long time, too long, he didn't think he'd ever do it, no matter how much he wanted it. 

In his head, he remembers the teachings in Sunday school and Bible class, remembers those sermons about damnation, but he wants this, wants to feel for the first time in his numb, closed-off life. Justin can't understand how this could be wrong. 

Justin's suddenly shy, and JC looks awkward, like he doesn't want to admit the reason for the fury to claim this hideaway. Hesitantly, JC runs a finger down Justin's cheek, and it's soft and makes Justin shiver. Bad Things cannot feel like _this_. 

So. this is not a Bad Thing. 

~~~ 

JC orders more drinks, more shots, to get that added liquid courage. Justin keeps his head down, his hair covered, so the waitress doesn't see who he is, doesn't realise his age and cut JC off. Under the table, one of JC's hands hang, and Justin grabs it, holds it. It fits well between his fingers. 

"I shouldn't let you drink," JC whispers, drowning another shot, and Justin's lost track of how many they've done tonight but knows it's a lot, more than usual. Justin's out of his mind, and JC looks glossy but alert, like he's been awake for years. "Should I?" 

"I'm fine," Justin says, " _aware_. I can see things. _Things_ , Jayce, I see them." 

JC leans over, his hand still twisted with Justin's. "What do you see?" 

Justin blinks. "I see you." 

"I see you, too," JC whispers, like it's the answer to all things, and Justin supposes in a way it is. Justin smiles shyly, tugs a bit on JC's hand, and JC smiles back, all chiselled face and scrunched up eyes. "Are you nervous?" 

"Kinda," Justin confesses, blushing, "yeah." 

"Me too," JC says, and Justin smiles a young, crooked smile. "You're so. _beautiful_ ," JC breathes, touching his free hand to Justin's face, his fingers moving over Justin's mouth, and Justin parts his lips, licks them delicately. "I'm so drunk." 

"Me too." 

And Justin leans forward, cautious in his movements, but JC's there, meeting him halfway, and it's unreal, just like the dream Justin has sometimes where they kiss and touch and do things Justin isn't even sure can be done, but he thinks he'd like to try them with JC, who's hot and wet and tastes like tequila and winter-fresh trident. 

In the beginning, it's a shade of beautiful. 

~~~ 

Justin touches his lips, like he almost remembers, and he thinks he almost does, or maybe it's just a picture so easily taken that Justin can imagine it without difficulty. It's strange and scary, but his belly doesn't twist like it used to, and he doesn't hate JC. Inside, Justin's a little bit healed, but he still doesn't understand why. 

"What happened then?" Justin asks, rocking back and forth, chin pressed into his knees. 

"We. um. made out, for awhile," JC says, and he's blushing hot red, pulling at his hair, which is long and wispy, like a lion's mane. Justin still thinks it looks hot. "Until these three guys came up and called us faggots. You tried to take them, and Chris and Joey came over, so they left without a fight, but you were angry. You left without me to go back to your mom's house." 

Justin frowns. "This was in Memphis." JC nods. "When did you see me again?" 

"The next morning, early. You stumbled into my room, but you were looking for yours." 

"And you don't know what happened?" 

"You wouldn't tell me." 

Justin feels cold and doesn't know why.


	7. dirty numb cracking boy you get wet boy big time boy.

He wakes up when Justin opens the door, sits up with a jolt and looks at Justin with wide, terrified eyes. This is Justin's room, or so Justin thinks. He's not sure at all because all doors look the same in the morning after, all white and wood and hiding things behind them. 

"Justin," he says, and it's neither a question nor a statement, just a name spoken in the haze of sleep. "Where have you been?" 

Justin blinks and steps back, but he's closed the door and doesn't remembering doing it, so he hits his face hard and remembers pain. It's all about hurt, a deep ache in his bones now that he's woken up from the nightmare. 

"JC," Justin says carefully, slowly. 

JC pulls on a pair of pants and tries to touch Justin, but Justin grabs his hand, wretches it away, and JC steps back, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at his toes. "Your head's bleeding, Justin. Were you in a fight?" 

"I'm tired," Justin says, "I'm going to go to bed." 

"You're hurt," JC says, "I should get your mom." 

Justin climbs onto the bed, curls onto his side and looks about ten years old, bringing his fingers to his mouth. "I'm just tired." JC makes a strange sound, and Justin closes his eyes. "I'm just tired. I want to go to bed." 

"Did something happen? Justin, you have to tell me. Justin, don't go to sleep." 

Justin's already deep inside his head and doesn't hear a thing. 

~~~ 

"You slept for four days," JC says, "and when you woke up and stayed awake, you looked at me and clearly told me to let go of your hand. I was holding it," JC explains, "because I was worried about you. You called me a fag." 

Justin frowns. "I don't remember." 

JC nods and bites his lip. 

"Jayce, you know. I. You know I'm like that, too," Justin blurts, spreading his arms helplessly, and Justin's belly clenches when he says it, already upset. "I just. I guess I don't know how to deal or something. This is all really fucked up." 

"I know," JC whispers, "I'm not so mad anymore." 

Justin nods and feels sick. "Um. Did anything else happen?" 

"Oh. um, yeah, I guess." JC rubs his hands together. "While you were. sleeping, I kind of, looked. to see if you were all right," JC mumbles, and his skin is red and flushed. Justin cracks a tiny smile because JC's always been a prude and has this thing about rampant nudity, or used to. JC showed Justin his body hours ago, and Justin thinks maybe that means a lot more than he thought at the time. "Justin, that isn't funny." 

"I know," Justin says, smiling hugely and trying to swallow it. 

"You were fine, you know, not, like, um. You know. molested," JC says carefully, and Justin can't stop smiling, giggling, even though it's not funny, not one bit. It's really pretty scary that Justin was that messed up when he came to JC that JC thought it was a concern. "You just seemed shocked, scared, like you saw something." 

"You think the mob got to me?" Justin asks, pressing his hands to his mouth, but JC doesn't looked amused at all, and that just makes it all the more funny as Justin giggles and snorts and shakes all over. "Don't be mad." 

"This isn't funny," JC repeats. 

"No, it isn't," Justin agrees and laughs loudly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." 

Justin now understands why Chris jokes when people die. 

Nothing seems horrible when somebody's laughing. 

~~~ 

JC's staring at his hands like he's never seen them before, and Justin crawls over to him, steals the space between them and kneels in front until JC looks up, brushing errant hair out of his eyes with a row of shaking fingers. 

"I'm sorry," Justin says, "for calling you all that stuff." 

JC shrugs and puts his hands on his lap. "It's all right. I figured there was a reason, and um. Like, I told Chris, too, sorry for that. I just. He kept hitting you and getting so mad, and he didn't understand there was a reason. It was _fine_ , just so long as there was reason." 

"I wish I knew what it was," Justin says and smiles a bit, and JC nods but won't meet Justin's eyes. Justin simply takes JC's arms by the wrists and lifts them up, sliding under them and leaning against JC's chest. JC freezes, but Justin ignores him. Justin wants back on the natural track of things, and he's doing his best to find it. 

Justin thinks it might start here.


	8. you had hands girl boy and steel boy you had chemicals boy.

Justin stays over at JC's place and watches JC's Star Wars movies for eight hours straight, wrapped in a blanket and sitting cross-legged on the couch. He's been eating all night, and he's shaky again. JC's finally sleeping, so Justin's alone. Justin's freaking out. 

Justin picks up the phone and pretends it isn't six in the morning. It takes ten rings to get an answer and when Justin finally hears something other than the chirp of the phone, it's a wordless mumble, so Justin just says, "hey." 

"Jup?" Chris asks. "What's up? Where's Jayce?" 

"Sleeping," Justin says, "I didn't want to wake him up. But I." 

"You having a hard time?" Chris's voice is soft and comfortable, garbled by a mix of sleep and concern. It's so caring that Justin winces, remember Chris's fists and his angry face, and finally understanding why Chris looked so defeated. "You want me to come over?" 

"Could you?" Justin pulls at the blanket and tugs it over his head so only his eyes peek out. Justin thinks he should be sweltering, but he's cold and unsteady, shivering and so full of food but so afraid to stop eating. 

"I'll be right over, kid. You're at JC's, right?" 

"Right," Justin says and hangs up. 

Justin stares at the wall. 

~~~ 

Justin's exhausted but he goes on, day by day. He phones his mom and asks about her birthday without seeming like he doesn't really remember, but she's concerned he's getting sick again because he keeps sniffling. It turns out, Justin was sick in bed for five days while JC nursed him back to health, valiantly protecting the others from the horrible flu. 

Justin thinks he should tell his mom a couple important things, like he's a recovering heroin addict and he's pretty sure he's gay and something happened on a Wednesday night that's so awful he doesn't remember anything. 

But he just says, "I love you," and hangs up. 

~~~ 

JC walks around the outskirts of Justin's space, sits away from him and takes the long way into the kitchen, and Justin supposes it's because JC's hurt, too. Justin's blank slate is painted black and ugly in JC's mind, and Justin hated him too long for JC just to forget the pain Justin caused. 

Sometimes, Justin approaches JC while he hovers, and JC freezes, like he thinks he's being hunted, and by feigning stillness he somehow also plays dead. Justin likes to take JC's hand and hold it or tuck it against his side and kiss his cheek a little bit, but JC's still wary, and Justin doesn't usually push too far. 

JC's long and lean and pretty, but pretty in a boy way, all muscles and angular face. When he laughs, it's low in his throat and lyrical, and Justin smiles at him whenever he hears it. It's really the only time Justin smiles at all. 

Justin thinks that by pushing away JC, he was keeping the memories away, though he didn't know that at that time, and hindsight is always twenty-twenty. Justin thinks now, by pulling JC as close as he'll come, maybe Justin will remember. 

There's still nothing there. 

~~~ 

"What if you can't remember?" JC asks one night at three in the morning while Justin is watching an unending spot on a multi-purpose grill. Justin jumps, narrows his eyes then shrugs. "I mean, maybe it's just gone from your head. Maybe it isn't coming back." 

"Everything comes back," Justin replies quietly, and he watches JC sit down, fold his knees to his chest. Justin creeps forward. "Because, see. Nothing stays hidden forever. I hated you, Jayce, fucking wanted to _kill_ you, blamed you for making me want you." 

"But I." 

Justin presses a thumb to JC's lips and shakes his head abruptly. "I _know_. I know that _now_. The drugs made me forget a lot of things, made me feel warm inside, like, happy and shit. The heroin, it made me feel in _love_." 

A sad look flickers over JC's face, and JC looks at his hands, rubs them together. 

"The chemicals made my need for you almost a memory, do you understand? But I came back from that; I couldn't stay away." Justin breathes on JC's skin and dips his fingers into the long, soft, _hot_ hair. "So, see, I'll remember, I _will_. I'm like that." 

"But you might not this time," JC says. "That's all I'm saying." 

"I will," Justin repeats. "Because I remember the important shit. _always_." 

JC sighs, and Justin kisses his jaw. JC pushes him away and mumbles about bed. 

Justin says yeah and follows him.


	9. you got a velvet mouth you're so succulent and beautiful shimmering and dirty wonderful.

"You're not ready for this," JC says, pushing Justin away, but Justin follows him like a puppy, clutching at JC's elbows and trying to stay. "Justin. Justin, don't, okay? I don't want to fuck you up more. Who's to say you won't freak out?" 

"I say," Justin insists, tugging at JC's sleeves. "Please, JC." 

"No," JC says, "no, Justin. It's not right." 

Justin snaps and stamps his foot. "It's right! I love you! That makes it all right!" 

"You also got yourself addicted to heroin in the last month!" JC shouts back, and Justin jumps and lets go of JC's arm. JC looks immediately apologetic, but Justin flinches when JC tries to touch him. "Justin. We just shouldn't right now. But we will." 

Justin feels about ten years old, bartering for a later bedtime. "You promise?" 

"I promise," JC says. "Go sleep in the guestroom. I made up the bed." 

"I'm not really tired," Justin replies, letting himself out of the bedroom. "Good night." 

Justin stays awake for another twenty-seven hours before passing out in JC's hallway, sucking his thumb. 

~~~ 

Justin tries again three days later, and JC says no again, shutting his door in Justin's face. Justin eats an entire pound cake in one sitting and feels sick but full, and he stays up all night then phones Chris at seven in the morning, asking him to go for a run. 

"Be glad I love you, kid," Chris mumbles and shows up ten minutes later, looking haggard. Justin feels a bit sorry but not enough to stop from doing it again five days later after Justin's third rejection. "You and Jayce having problems?" 

"He won't sleep with me," Justin pants, trying to keep up with Chris, who's suddenly in a lot better shape than Justin and that isn't at all good. "I mean, I said it was all right, and he still won't do it. I want to, Chris." 

"Don't push things," Chris says, "three weeks ago, you were trying to burn him at the stake for being gay. I wouldn't let you near my dick, either." 

"I said I was sorry for that. I didn't know." 

Chris stops. "Justin, those things don't come from nowhere. You're dealing with something major right now, kiddo, memory loss about something you need to remember. Don't fuck it up by jumping into bed with JC." 

"But I love him," Justin says, "it's all right." 

"No, man, it's not." 

Justin stops going for runs with Chris. 

~~~ 

"Will you just kiss me then?" Justin finally asks after JC puts off every advance for twelve days running. Between trying to get JC to sleep with him and laying down his new vocals, and consciously avoiding drugs, Justin's barely been able to remember, mostly been able to forget, about the gap in his memory. "We can make out. Please." 

JC puts down his book and sighs. "Fine, Justin." 

Justin kicks over a chair and points at JC angrily, furious. "I don't want to force you or anything! Fuck, Jayce, you're making me feel like there's something wrong with me. Like I." Justin stops his rant. "Like I made you feel. Shit. I wouldn't want to be with me either. I'm such a jerk. I'm gonna go home." 

"Justin, no." JC gets up and chases him to the front door, slamming it shut when Justin tries to leave. Justin presses his lips together and feels like ice inside, crossing his arms over his chest. "It isn't that, all right? I told you, I forgive you." 

"Then what is it?" Justin asks, "because I want to kiss you." 

JC smiles a bit. "I know. I know you _think_ you do. But, Justin. We should wait, all right? At least for the sex, until you remember. I need to know. I have to be sure you want me, like, really want me. I need you to remember why you first told me you loved me." 

"I told you that?" 

JC's eyes cloud with sadness and turn away. 

Justin realises he's just proven the point. 

~~~ 

Justin buys JC a bouquet of long stem red roses and puts them on his pillow. Later, Justin returns with a card and waits by the window for JC to come back from wherever it is he went. As the hours creep by, Justin puts the flowers into a vase and lies down on JC's bed. 

The pillow smells like JC, and Justin likes that, taking deep breaths and hugging one to his chest. He remembers how JC smelled years ago, when JC loved cologne and always wore too much. Justin remembers JC fondly in the early years, how he was goofy but endearing, a huge nerd with an amazing voice. JC's not so different now, just a little bit older, a little bit wiser. 

Justin doesn't doubt he's in love with JC. Even at the height of Justin's hate, it wasn't loving him that was the problem. It was the lusting after him, the wanting to touch him in ways Justin was always told he wasn't allowed, that made Justin sick. Justin thinks it must have been obvious from an early age he was noticing boys. Justin remembers his mom explaining about sodomy, and his priest, who talked to Justin after mass about certain sins Justin wasn't supposed to commit. It must have been so obvious to everyone if Justin remembers the warnings. 

But Justin's never been with a guy, not even once. JC says they've kissed, but Justin can't remember, so he's pretty much a virgin in that regard. Justin's had sex with girls, knows JC has too, but it wasn't anything to write home about, nothing really to remember. 

But remembering's the problem, isn't it? 

~~~ 

Justin sighs and waits. It's now late at night and he's not tired at all, but he has nothing to do, and he wants JC to just come home. The roses looks lovely, and Justin thinks it's a really nice gesture on his part, and he really wants JC to come back. 

Being here, lying in JC's personal space, Justin is strangely turned on, which is odd in itself because the more Justin thinks about it, the more he realises he hasn't been aroused for weeks. He fucked all those girls, those nameless ones, but it wasn't a state of mind, just of body. 

Justin's body is strumming. His cock isn't hard, not yet, but it's feeling full, like it will be, just by lying on JC's bed and wishing for him to be there, too. Inside, Justin's warm and comfortable, and he lifts his arms over his head, stretches and pulls his belly taut. 

This is how Justin would move under JC, with a gracefully arched back and rolling hips, and JC would kiss him slowly, deeply, and lie between Justin's legs. His fingers would walk under Justin's shirt and stroke firm muscles, and Justin would bow into him, bury his hands in JC's wild, soft hair. 

Justin touches himself lightly through his jeans, coaxing his cock to fullness, pressing and rubbing and squeezing, but gently, cautiously, so he doesn't scare himself. His fingers ache to touch JC, and when Justin thinks about that, he gets strangely nervous, giddy almost, and a tiny bit afraid. The day Justin touches JC will be the day everything changes for good. Right now, Justin's stuck in limbo, neither straight nor gay, just asexual or JC-sexual or something like that. 

Justin hums as he traces the thick line of his cock, pushing all thoughts from his mind but the sensation of sexual pleasure. It's like he's twelve again, learning how to make himself come. It's as new and exciting as then, but also familiar, comforting in the way Justin knows exactly what to do to make himself _feel_. 

Justin doesn't even realise his eyes are closed until the bed sinks slightly and they fly open, seeing JC and ready to explain what exactly it is that Justin's doing on his bed, though it's pretty obvious and Justin knows JC's not going to believe anything else. 

"Those for me?" JC asks, tilting his head at the flowers, and Justin nods, his hand still on the length of his dick and his face hot with blush. JC smiles and leans over to smell them, the smooth line of his back so beautiful that Justin touches his fingers to it. 

JC looks back at Justin and bends to him, brushing his lips over Justin's open mouth. Justin freezes then breathes out, pushing up into the kiss but keeping it clean, light and cautious. Familiar, too, Justin realises with a shock, and it intensifies, tongues gliding over each other and Justin burying his fingers in JC's hair. 

"Okay, okay, we have to stop," JC says eventually, and Justin nods reluctantly, touching his swollen, wet lips, licking them to taste JC. With a calming smile, JC palms a hand over Justin's face. "But you can sleep here tonight, if you want." 

"I want," Justin says and goes under the covers, tossing his clothing to the ground. 

Justin falls asleep wrapped in JC's arms, safe.


	10. babes and babes and babes and remembering nothing boy.

It comes back when Justin least expects it. It's not a special day, it's actually pretty boring, but it comes back, all of it, in one violent, angry, terrifying burst of memory. Justin is sitting with the morning paper, not feeling very happy or carefree while the other guys frolic around him, and JC comes into the room with a line of water across his chest, grumbling. 

"Fucking Chris," JC mutters, "fucking Joey. Fucking _Lance_!" 

"Lance?" Justin asks and swallows his laugh. JC nods like he can't believe it, and Justin's wonders if the world isn't suddenly ending. Usually, Lance is sitting beside Justin, learning about the world. They're supposed to have a meeting that starts in half an hour, and Chris especially is psychotic in the mornings. "I thought Johnny banned them from doing that?" 

"Has Chris ever followed a single rule in his life?" JC pours a cup of coffee and sits down next to Justin, rubbing his back. "How are you doing? You didn't sleep at all last night. Can I make you some breakfast?" 

"I'm fine," Justin replies and feels the love swell in his chest. JC nags and worries and frets, but Justin kind of likes it, feels loved in return every time JC tries to feed him or comfort him or touch him. Justin thinks they're more like old lovers than new ones not quite ready to take the next step. 

Lance runs into the kitchen, panting and flailing his arms, before running out, yelling after Chris and telling him to leave him be, pleading peace and good will and a whole lot of unfairness because Lance is unarmed. 

"Collective age of nine," JC mutters, rubbing at his shirt. 

Justin smiles and laughs, leaning over to hug JC, but Joey's there, shouting and laughing, while Chris bounces around and shrieks, and there's water shooting everywhere, and Justin turns around, and suddenly Justin's staring down the barrel of a gun. 

And it all comes back, just like that, on a day like any other. 

From some ugly place deep inside, Justin screams. 

~~~ 

"Justin," JC says, trying to get at him, but he's tucked under the table, curled into the corner, making these noises that mean nothing to Justin, but words just aren't coming out right now. Justin's sobbing so hard his ribs hurt, and he doesn't want to be touched, just wants everything to go away. "Justin. Come out of there. _Now_." 

Justin makes more noise and scrambles away from JC's arms, kicking at him whenever he comes close, and JC backs away. Justin can hear Joey speaking frantically, apologising and saying he hadn't known about anything like that, and he'd done it a hundred times before, and was Justin going to be all right? 

"He won't be fine, but it's not your fault," JC says. Justin watches JC's legs walk away, and he's crying harsh, agonising tears and wants to grab onto them suddenly, to latch onto JC and makes it all go away. Justin doesn't know what he wants anymore. This is all too much for him to take. 

Chris peeks his head under the table, and Justin wails, pulling away deeper into his corner and shaking so hard his teeth rattle. "Jup," Chris says softly, "c'mon, kid. Come out so we can deal with this, all right? We sent everyone home. It's just us." 

"JC," Justin manages to choke, and Chris disappears, but the minute he's gone, Justin wants him back, too, just wants to be held and be safe and disappear from all of this. He feels numb and dirty and young, and he doesn't like the memory, is afraid of it and hates it even more than he thought he would. 

Justin realises the thing he hates most in this world is fear. 

~~~ 

Joey's crying quietly but trying to cover it up by sniffing and wiping at his face, and Justin clambers over to him once JC draws him out from under the table. Justin hugs Joey tightly, crying too because he's scared and feeling crazy again, like Justin felt with the drugs in his blood but this time aware he's out of control. 

"I'm so sorry, J," Joey mutters, "I wouldn't do stupid shit like that if I knew." 

Justin doesn't say anything, just hugs him tighter, because he doesn't want Joey to feel bad, too. Justin doesn't fight when JC pulls him away and leads him to the empty couch, letting Justin find his place on the cushions and not seeming to mind when that place is tucked against JC's side, arm laid over his flat belly. 

Lance is the first person to ask, "can someone tell me what's going on?" 

"Something happened to me, and I didn't remember," Justin says slowly, though he knows it won't explain anything, but he doesn't really understand it himself. "In Memphis, after my mom's party. I didn't have the flu." 

"I'm sorry, guys, Chris and I should have told you, but Justin's been having such a rough time, and it was just better this way. It's been months now," JC says, palm circling over Justin's back, and Justin closes his eyes, breathes him in. "It's all really fucked up." 

Lance nods and pats Joey on the shoulder, who is still sort of crying and still vainly attempting to hide it. Chris, on his other side, is leaning against Joey and frowning deeply, and Justin looks at them with sad eyes. 

"But I remember now." 

~~~ 

"Justin," JC says, trailing after him out of the club and pulling at his shirt. "Don't go." 

"Why the fuck not?" Justin demands, turning around. "Those fuckers called me a fag!" 

"So? So what? Those guys, don't listen to them, Justin. This thing we have together, it's all right, it's normal. I'm not afraid of it," JC says, and Justin throws his arms up in the air, exasperated. "I don't want you going home alone." 

"And I don't want you to come with me, Jayce." Justin's face softens, and he touches JC's hand lightly. "This is a lot to deal with, all of it. I need to work out some shit on my own and stuff. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Jayce. I promise. I just. I _can't_ right now." 

JC sighs, and Justin knows he's won. "Will you be all right?" 

"Fine," Justin says, "I'm always fine." 

Justin turns and walks away. 

~~~ 

Justin is very confused when they first grab him, is still very drunk and thinks it's JC, but the hands hurt and there's more than two of them. There's a fist in his hair, keeping his head down, and he stumbles forward, denied the right to stop and fight and run away. 

Justin opens his mouth to scream, but there's a hand there too, jamming cloth between his teeth, and the sounds come out muffled and quiet. Justin is so drunk. When his legs give out, the arms drag him, and he's already crying. In his belly, terror grows and poisons his blood. 

Justin doesn't want to die, but he thinks he might. He's pretty sure this is it, and he's crying hard because there are so many things he still wants to do, so many things to say, to everyone but especially JC. It's these frantic thoughts that make Justin brace his feet against the ground and pull back, lunging for freedom. 

The thing about being outnumbered is he almost always loses, and Justin understands that as a swarm of hands grab him back, imprison him again, and Justin can't breathe, can't get air in at all. He writhes to get away, but something long and metal hits the side of his head, and Justin's stunned, stupid and afraid. 

Justin's going to die tonight, this he doesn't doubt. Not yet twenty and with the entire world in his pocket, he's still going to die, alone and in pain. It isn't fair, he thinks, but then, that doesn't surprise him. 

Nothing ever seems to work out like Justin wants. 

~~~ 

Lance drinks whiskey, Justin thinks later when he's down on his knees and they're pouring alcohol down his throat, a lot of it, to keep him sedate and stupid. It burns, and he's already throwing up a lot of it, but they keep doing it, and Justin begins to forget his own name. 

The fear, though, the terror is keeping him as alert as he can be, but he suspects things seem even more terrible in this state. People move around him, and he can hear them, feel them, more than he can see them. The sounds are strange, like hearing a child scream underwater, and all movement blurs in dull, drab streaks of colour. 

Justin isn't as stupid as he should be, either. He knows what that is pointing at his head, but they explain it anyway, like he's never seen a gun before, like he doesn't know what it'll do to his pretty faggot face, like they need to tell him all these things. Justin understands. He isn't an idiot. He knows this gun is going to kill him if he screams. 

They're teaching him about hate as he kneels on the floor, his arms tied in front of his body, his hands pressed together. They pray together for two hours, begging for absolution, and Justin knows his prayers, says them every night before bed. When he's tired and stops saying them, they put the gun between his teeth and teach him about fear instead. In between sobs, Justin promises to keep going, especially when they pour more whiskey down his throat. 

In his terror, Justin will agree to anything. 

~~~ 

When Justin's legs get tired and he slumps, they pull him back up by his hair, and it hurts but dully, like it isn't really happening. It's been hours. They read to him from the Bible, and Justin nods because he understands what it's saying to him, he understands his sin. Justin would really like for them to let him go now. 

They tell him about sex and how it's done, and he says he knows. Justin's been with a couple girls, and he knows it's the right and proper way. They yell at him for having sex before marriage, remind him of his other deviance, but there's a bigger sin here and they don't forget it. They think Justin is a homosexual, but Justin doesn't know what he is anymore. He's thinks he might still be a child. 

They ask about his boyfriend, and Justin says he's just a fag he knows, that's it. Justin doesn't even like him, not at all. He promises to make him turn, too, to help him see the error of his ways, and they like that, believe it because Justin's no longer crying or fighting or trying to get away. Justin knows he's wrong. He's not stupid. 

It ends with screams about damnation and guns pointed in his face, two of them, and one goes off right by Justin's ear, hits the wall behind him and shatters plaster. The chips of rock ricochet back and cut into Justin's head. It hurts, and Justin whimpers, but he takes it like a man and stands up straighter, doesn't mind how the blood stains his shirt. 

They throw him out of the car in a park, and Justin recognises it, knows where he is. It's dark and scary in the world right now, but Justin's still so drunk, so numb and dirty inside, that he barely notices it. He just puts one foot in front of the other and searches for home. 

Justin can't really remember anything else.


	11. hot times on your telephone line and god and everything on your telephone.

Justin stares at his feet for a long time and ignores the silence. "That's it, I guess," he finally says, grateful that JC is so close to him and keeping him strong. JC's breathing is different, more forced, but he's not crying, and Justin loves him for that, too. "I. I think I'm gonna go home. Yeah. I'm. I'm gonna go." 

"Justin," Chris says, and Justin shakes his head abruptly because if anyone says anything, Justin's going to cry again, and that isn't going to be pretty. Right now, he's just barely in control, and he needs to get home in one piece. 

"Can we reschedule this?" Justin asks without wanting an answer. "Because, I think. I'm gonna take a few days to myself, you know. I'm really." Justin looks around for his jacket, refusing to look at anything but the carpet. "I'm kinda tired." 

"No problem," JC says, and Justin nods, sniffing as he searches for his bag and his shoes. They aren't where he left them, and he really needs them now. He appreciates the fact his friends aren't helping. If they so much as move, Justin's going to shatter. 

Justin grabs his stuff and slides on his sneakers, pulls on his jacket. He throws his bag over his shoulder and walks back to JC, kissing him before anything can be said by anyone. "Can you stop by later? In a few hours?" 

JC nods, and Justin kisses him again. 

"I love you," Justin says and follows the carpet out of the building, knowing Joey and Lance maybe didn't know about them, and a bit guilty because he's left JC to explain it, but he has to get away from them, has to put his mind back in order. 

There isn't any room for the memories in his brain. 

~~~ 

Justin takes a long, hot shower and thinks. He thinks about the things he remembers, and doesn't know whether to love or hate Joey for dragging the memories back, but Justin wanted to remember and now he does. Sometimes, he does get what he wishes for. 

The thing is, it's actually worse than he could have imagined. He could have handled physical brutality, would have been able to heal from that, but mental torture like that is a painful thing to have in his head, something Justin doesn't know how to move beyond or how to forget. 

Justin scrubs until his skin is raw then steps out, wrapping himself in a large, wool robe. He walks into his bedroom and opens his closet, looking for his favourite leather coat. In the pocket is a little baggie. In that little baggie is heroin. 

Justin looks at it for a long time and thinks about doing it. His head is hurting, and he feels afraid. Someone held a gun in his face for five hours and convinced him he was going to die. Now, without it the heroin, he still feels like he did in that long, painful moment. For the first time since almost stepping off the building, Justin seriously thinks about death. 

But he's stronger now, and he's stronger than this. JC told him that, and so did Chris, and Justin's going to believe them. Justin walks back to the bathroom and empties the packet into the toilet, flushes it just as quickly, and he feels in control. 

Justin moves over to the window-seat and sits down, lifting one knee to his chest and holding it. He stays there for hours until it's dark outside, and the moon is big and round. Justin looks at the time and waits for JC to arrive, knows his love for him is greater than any terror caused in Justin's past. 

This is what Justin has to believe to survive. 

~~~ 

JC shows up around midnight, and he stands in the door like he doesn't think Justin can see him. Eventually, Justin turns his head and smiles sadly, and JC walks over hesitantly, drenched to the bone. It's raining outside. Justin's been watching tears drip down the window forever. 

"Hey," JC says, and Justin takes his hand and holds it tightly. JC's brow creases, perplexed, like he can't figure out what's going on in Justin's head. Justin's doesn't blame him. He barely understands himself. 

"You wanna take a shower?" Justin asks suddenly, kissing the soft skin on the inside of JC's wrist. "I put out towels and a bathrobe and that shampoo you like, the one that smells like pina colada." Justin pauses. "And I flushed a couple grams of heroin down the toilet." 

JC doesn't even blink, just touches Justin's cheek and says, "good." 

"I really wanted it," Justin confesses. "I almost did it." 

"But you didn't, and isn't that all that matters?" JC rests his chin on Justin's head and holds him close, and Justin melts into him, taking a deep and cleansing breath. This feels real, the two of them, and Justin isn't afraid. "I think I will go take that shower." 

"I'll be up when you get out," Justin says and lets him go. 

Justin doesn't think he's ever loved anyone as much as he loves JC right now. 

~~~ 

Justin looks up when JC comes out of the bathroom, wrapped in a big, wooly towel, a dark burgundy. JC's hair is flat and wavy, pressed against his head, and Justin smiles because this is a JC not everyone sees. 

"Is Joey all right?" Justin asks, standing up and pulling the curtains closed. 

"He's fine. Suffering with guilt, thinking he's dumb, you know how he is," JC replies and doesn't move away when Justin stops in front of him, lifts a hand to brush away hair from the furrowed brow. JC's eyes close. "I'm sorry it wasn't something else." 

"Me too," Justin says, lacing his fingers through JC's hair, contouring the shape of his skull, and JC tilts his head, breathes deep. "But it could have been worse. They could have broken my body, too. They could have killed me." 

JC doesn't say anything, just turns his head away and frowns, and Justin presses his lips to the long line of neck, scratching over the skin. JC shivers but doesn't fight, not this time, and Justin steps closer and breathes. 

"We really shouldn't do this now," JC mutters. "This really isn't the time." 

"Our time was months ago," Justin replies, tonguing the arc of JC's jaw, his fingers slipping under the flap of fuzzy robe and touching bony hips. "We would have gone home together, and we would have made love, and we would have been fucking happy, but we didn't get that, Jayce. We got. we got nothing." 

JC wraps his arm around Justin's shoulders and pulls him close, and Justin stretches his neck as JC presses his face to it, breathing hard and wet. Justin puts his fingers into JC's hair, holds his head as JC cries softly, the saddest sound Justin's ever heard. "I'm so, so sorry," JC manages to gasp, his other hand a fist wrapped in Justin's robe. 

Justin kisses JC where ear meets brow, and whispers, "we both are." 

And somehow that makes it better. 

~~~ 

"I'm not afraid," Justin says, sitting on the bed while JC paces, watching his toes. "That's why this is different. I'm not scared of you. Or this. Or wanting to be with you, not anymore. I just. I want you to be with me." Justin adds, "please." 

JC stops his wandering. "You're a virgin." 

Justin smiles and nods. "With guys, yeah." 

"Justin, you can't take that back." 

"I wouldn't want to, Jayce." Justin tries smiling again, flashing his brightest, and JC grins back, looks like he can't help it. Justin knew he would. He understands how JC works better than he understands himself. "I'm throwing myself at you here. Please." 

JC sighs. "This is not the right thing to do. I'm just going to fuck you up more." 

"I don't think so," Justin says, "right now, that seems impossible." 

"That's the problem." 

"Or maybe the solution," Justin replies, his legs crossed and bare, long in the way they touch the floor, hang off the bed. Justin leans back and consciously makes them longer, and JC glances at him. "You have to trust me, Jayce." 

"I do," JC says, "I just. You shouldn't be this. together, about everything." 

"That's because this is the only thing holding me together. You, Jayce. Fuck. Trust me here, all right? Just. come here," and Justin pats the bed with his hand. JC eyes it, scratching a hand through his hair, and Justin sighs. "Fine." 

Justin stands up and walks to JC, stops there and stares at him. "Here," Justin says quietly, untying the belt of his robe and letting it drop to the floor, pooling around his ankles. JC's eyes widen. "And here." Justin takes JC's hands and puts them on his back. "And here." Justin pushes the housecoat off JC's shoulders and licks along his collarbone. 

JC bends into him but doesn't fight it as his clothes are stripped away, just tentatively kisses Justin's mouth at the corner of his lips, murmurs -- "I love you" -- and lets it stand on its own. Inside, Justin hums and thinks he may be happy. 

JC is so warm and alive against him. 

~~~ 

JC's skin is strangely soft, and Justin rubs his face against it, nuzzling like a curious animal. JC breathes deep and pretends to be in control, but Justin knows the battle is mostly over. He's won, and JC's pliant and easy beneath him. 

Justin's a little bit freaked out, but he's trying to hide it. He thinks JC understands because JC is so quiet and touches Justin only when Justin moves close and speaks with his eyes. So far, they've only touched over shoulders, backs and chests. Justin can feel JC hard beneath him and thinks it somewhat strange. When JC's dick taps his leg, Justin freezes. 

"You all right?" JC asks quietly, and Justin nods and touches the pads of his fingers to JC's hips, memorising the slide of his flesh under Justin's hands. "I was fifteen, my first time with a guy. I was freaked out." 

Justin looks up. "So young?" 

"I always knew I was gay," JC replies, and his voice is quiet. Justin thinks this is where JC talks Justin out of doing this, so Justin sits back and bites his lip. Justin probably wants to be talked out of it, anyway. "Justin, it's okay." 

"I want this so much," Justin whispers. 

"We'll save it," JC says, folding Justin's into his arms and tugging him down to the bed. Justin curls into JC and presses a wet, open mouth to JC's chest. Fingers dance down Justin's back, and Justin finally feels warm. "It'll be all right." 

Justin mumbles, "I know." 

But Justin thinks he might be really messed up.


	12. she said comeover comeover she smiled at you boy.

Justin notices the guys act different around him. Chris jokes less, and Joey is careful with his words, and Lance doesn't wear his cross around his neck anymore. Justin catches Lance's change first and tucks his fingers into the neck of Lance's shirt, peering down smooth, shadowy skin. 

"Where is it?" Justin asks, and JC looks up sharply from across the room, meets Justin's eyes because Justin can't look at Lance. Lance doesn't say anything, so Justin lifts his face and stares at him. "Lance. Where is it?" 

"I took it off," Lance says. 

"Why?" Justin demands, looking at Joey, who adverts his glance. Chris is sighing deeply beside Justin, and Justin's getting mad. "Fuck it, Lance. Fuck you. And all of you, too. So what? Huh? You're treating me like a freak!" 

"I'm ashamed," Lance says suddenly, "I'm ashamed that they did that to you in the name of God. I can't," Lance says then stops, and his voice breaks, all painful and rough, "I can't wear it knowing they did that to you. It's. I can't, Justin." 

"But it wasn't you," Justin says, "you had nothing to do with it." 

"I used to hate gay people, too," Lance whispers, "I was just like that. I. I'm sorry." 

"Lance," Justin says, but can't think of anything more to say, just sits there with his hands in his lap and _feels_ like a freak, like he's out of control again. Justin needs a happy ending, something to make everything right, and he's not being given one. 

Justin isn't sure where to find it. 

~~~ 

Justin tells JC he's going out for milk but drives to Memphis instead, leaving a voicemail message on JC's cell phone, then calling Chris and leaving a message on his machine. Chris screens his calls. Justin knows his mom is still there, living life away from Orlando for awhile and just being a normal person. 

It's early in the morning when Justin arrives and he walks into the house, looking around with wide eyes. He remembers now how it looked to him when he first entered that night, how he reached for the door handle on the wrong side and tripped over the carpet in the hallway. 

"Sweetie?" Justin's mom is standing at the top of the stairs in her housecoat, and she looks about as confused as Justin feels. He isn't sure why he spent the night in a fancy car to come back to Tennessee. "What are you doing here?" 

"I have things to tell you," Justin says stupidly. It doesn't seem like a good enough excuse, so he adds, "important things, things you should probably know." 

"Okay," she says. "I can put on some coffee, make some pancakes. We can talk." 

Justin nods and follows her into the kitchen, sitting at the kitchen table and looking around. He feels off in this house now, like it's a place of Bad Things, when he used to love being here. There's this air now that makes Justin's skin prickle. 

Justin feels out of place in the world. 

~~~ 

In between sipping coffee and nibbling delicious blueberry pancakes, Justin mutters, "mom? um. I'm. I'm probably gay." 

She looks up, the space between her eyebrows wrinkled, and Justin's heart sinks. That means she isn't happy, but she doesn't seem mad, not yet. She simply says, "I see," like it's enough for Justin when it isn't at all. 

"I'm sorry," Justin adds. 

She doesn't say anything for a long time, and the silence is thick and uncomfortable. Justin scrunches down in his seat and chews without tasting, the pancake gummy and gross between his teeth. Justin thinks, once he's finished all that's on his plate, he'll drive back to Orlando and forget he ever said anything. 

"Are you seeing anyone?" She finally asks. 

Justin nods. "Yeah." 

"Is." She takes a deep breath. "Is he nice?" 

"He looks out for me," Justin says, "and he makes me smile. makes me feel loved." 

She sighs deeply, and it sounds like she's defeated. Justin sniffs loudly and rubs his nose with the back of his hand, his eyes already watering, but he blinks hard and holds the tears in. If he starts, he won't stop, and he still needs to drive back and forget. 

"It's JC, isn't it?" 

"Um. yeah," Justin says. "Yeah." 

She frowns and looks a bit angry now, a bit frazzled at the ends because her eyes are dark and intense. "Did he. I trusted him with you. Did he break my trust, Justin?" 

Justin furrows his brow and tries to understand what she's implying. It sounds to him like she's asking if JC. If he. "No," Justin says sharply, "this is new. No. I. He wouldn't ever. He's not like that, mom. He's not. no." 

"Are you sure?" 

Justin closes his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure. This was. Fuck," Justin says and forgets it's his mom sitting there, "I'm going home. This was a bad idea. I just. I'm going back to Orlando. Thanks for breakfast. I'll talk to you later." 

Kissing her on the cheek as he leaves is a habit he forgets to break. 

~~~ 

Justin stops in Georgia for most of the day, just sits in a park for a few hours and thinks about things and how he still isn't happy and how he'd really like some heroin, just a bit, just to take the edge off. It's always there, he realises, the need. He wishes he could blame it on somebody, force someone else to take responsibility for this cravings in his bones, but he knows he did it to himself in his fear. 

Justin wants to phone his mom, to maybe digress on his declaration and say he's straight, but he's less afraid of her alienation than he is of being alone again. If he says that, JC's never going to trust him, and Justin needs JC like he needs air. It's essential to his survival. 

Eventually, Justin gets back in his car and drives to JC's house. It's dark when he gets there, but the bedroom light is still on, and Justin knows JC's going to be mad when Justin comes in. It's all right, though, Justin knows it's warranted. 

JC's sitting in bed watching television when Justin walks into the room, and he looks up, face bleak with worry and care. Justin sniffles then runs to him, burying his face into the thin fabric of JC's tee-shirt. "It's so fucked up, Jayce." 

"What is?" JC asks gently. 

Justin pulls back. "Everything. My life, me. My mom." Justin's voice is frantic and racing, but he can't stop from blurting everything out. It's sitting at his teeth, shaking to be free and out there. "I came out to my mom, Jayce." 

"Oh," JC says. "How did it." 

"It didn't. It. She asked if you. when I was little, if you." 

JC pales to a sickly white, and he's shaking, Justin can feel him. "But. why? 

"I don't know," Justin says, and it comes out young and scared. 

"I never did," JC mumbles. "I never would. That's. sick. I." 

"I know." Justin kisses him hard. "I know." 

"I can't believe. I can't believe she thought I'd. when you were a _child_." 

"Fear makes people do stupid things," Justin says. 

It's not an excuse, but it's a failing Justin knows all too well. 

~~~ 

"I feel dirty," Justin mumbles later, his back pressed against JC's chest, sitting in between his legs while they watch movies. "I feel dirty and ugly and numb. And stupid," Justin adds. "I don't know how to fix this, Jayce. I don't know how to make this better." 

JC cups his hand against Justin's neck, and JC's skin is oddly warm as his thumb strokes behind Justin's ear, slowly and comfortingly. "You just need to slow down. You live so fast, Justin. You always have." 

"I don't know how," Justin confesses. 

"Just give it time, and let us help you. let me help you. You don't need to push this." JC's other hand crawls down Justin's chest to take the palm Justin has pressed against his own belly, and their fingers twine together like snakes. "I'll still be here. I won't leave." 

"It fucked up my whole life," Justin says, "I'm just realising that now." 

"It doesn't have to." 

"It's already done," Justin says. 

He rolls away from JC and closes his eyes, pretending to sleep. 

~~~ 

This is the ending to the story, Justin thinks, feigning unconsciousness. This is how it all ends. His fight, it seems, accomplishes nothing at all, and Justin's left feeling like a fallen angel, all golden and shining but empty and gross inside. One night and it all goes to hell. 

JC is still watching television and Justin reaches out his hand, touches the small of JC's back. His fingers splay and seem to fit in the indent, in that dip of skin where the shirt rides up and the pants hang low. Justin curls his hand into a fist and runs the knuckles softly over the bumps of JC's spine. 

JC asks softly, "Justin?" 

"Don't speak," Justin warns, unfolding his fingers and pushing them up JC's back, under his shirt. JC's rolls his shoulder, tilts his head, and Justin leans over, touching his cheek to the soft skin in the dip above the waistband. 

"Sleep with me," Justin whispers, kissing the small of JC's back. 

"It won't make anything better," JC says, "things will be exactly the same in the morning." 

Justin's breath catches. "I know." Justin closes his eyes and kisses JC's warm skin again. "But I'm. I need to forget," Justin whispers, and opens his eyes, but his sight is blurred, his cheeks already wet. "I got what I wanted, and I still don't like it." 

"Justin," JC says again, and Justin crumbles behind him, clutching JC's pillow. JC turns around and leans over him, pressed against his back and so brilliantly alive, such a man to love. "Justin, hey. Your ending, this isn't it. There's so much more time. Things'll get better, day by day, and it'll be greater than this." 

"I wanted a happy ending," Justin confesses, "I didn't want to be afraid anymore." 

"I know," JC whispers, "I'm sorry." 

And that's how it ends, with Justin unable to reconcile the way things are with how they are supposed to be. It's how it all unravels, not as a beautiful tapestry but as a tangle of knots on the floor, a mess that needs time to mend it. 

Justin doesn't get his happy ending, but he will.


End file.
